Clarity
by Pursued-Alive
Summary: A SasuNaru drabble. Set in an AU. Naruto is shocked to learn of a confession from a pale boy who he thought could never fall in love with someone such as himself. His ideals are the same, but his demeanour has changed. What will he do, when he is accustomed to being quiet, yet always feeling? Is there such a thing as returning someone's feelings?


Clarity

It only took a second for those words to fall fresh from his mouth. But in an instant, he could feel his cheeks begin to grow hot.

"I'm in love with you."

Blue eyes widened a fraction, and his whole body went rigid. Somewhere in the space of his mind, the emptiness receeded, and it was filled with thoughts. These thoughts bounced back and forth, alternating between passion and calm, as his fists uncurled, and his knees seemed to wobble, his legs shaking. Part of him doubted his words. The part that was frightened of rejection. Rejection seemed to be everywhere – it was a fear that plagued him, when he lay on his bed during the night, clouded in a shroud of inky darkness, his chest rising and falling. It all seemed to make sense to others, as they looked in on through his lifestyle, as if exploring blank, mystified pages of a bound book. He wasn't really outgoing. They described him as "quiet, but smart, and with thoughts he kept only to himself." He didn't need to speak at great lengths to get his point across, but was not unnessecarily blunt, and he was aware of people's feelings to an extent which made him incredibly empathetic and understanding. He caught on to people's conversations, and didn't agree with conversations of the political kind, and steered away from wrong-doers and loud-mouthed people.

It upset the balance, when he was around such people.

He tended to stick to his own devices, anyway, so it wasn't really much of a problem.

Yes, solitude was where he always belonged. But he never expected anyone to be attracted to him in any way. He hardly talked to anyone, and attraction for anyone never really crossed his mind. But when he heard those words being said, the gears began to turn in his mind. Perhaps there _was _something to like about him. He was of average looks, with hair that swept over his eyes in a blonde, soft arc, and a smile that tugged the heartstrings of others, and tanned skin that could only belong to a renown surfer who spent days, and years, out in the harsh summer sun. He kept up his studies, and was near the top ten percent of his classes. Skilled at art, he found analytical essays quite difficult, but his professors always said that if he got his head around the process, he could write some of the finest they had ever seen. Painting was his forte. Instead of going to the beach and swimming in the cold waves which threatened to steal him off his feet, he sat on a towel, on the sand, with an easel and fresh paint, and began to at first sketch the outlines of the cliff-faces and beautiful ocean.

He found it serene, and was at an almost mediative state when he painted, as if nothing could disrupt his spiritual and mental balance.

But this confession affected him deeply. He felt his heart clench in his chest, as butterflies made their way into his stomach, their wings brushing against the lining of it. His bottom lip trembled as surprise crossed his face, and for the receiver, that was a glimpse into his mind, the fear that showed for only a brief the confessor didn't seem to mind – if anything, hope flashed across his pale face, as he reached a hand out to grab his wrist. Not in a forceful way, but his eyes were pleading with him, pleading to stay. "Please," he begged, his voice undeniably soft and husky as it turned the blue-eyed man into a quivering state of his former self. "Stay with me. Just for one night."

The pale boy was insistent, and his voice was firm, yet gentle.

He found his heart palpitating painfully in his chest as his gaze slid to the hand around his wrist, and then he looked into his coal-black eyes.

He thought he felt something when the pale boy with black eyes leaned forwards and pressed his lips softly against his own, and he felt his equally midnight-black hair tickle his cheek, as he slowly let go of his wrist, embracing him into a tight hug. Traffic sped past as blurred lights flickered within his darkened vision, eyes closed. For a moment, he felt himself become nothing, feeling nothing at all, before he timidly wrapped his arms around his waist, eyebrows creased, unknown emotions surging within like a rough current which threatened to break down everything.


End file.
